


Christmas Quartet

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlockverse, Christmas, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Santa Claus - Freeform, Santa is Real, Smut, Sort of AU therefore, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Sherlock, John, Jim, Sebastian, Greg and Mycroft on a Christmassy break in a new countryside cottage purchased by Mycroft. Amidst much love and laughter, there is an important question to be answered - Is Santa real?(Please read notes at the end)
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	1. Christmas break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brenda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/gifts).



“There really is a Santa Claus.”

Absolute silence descended in the room.

Years after the great game between Sherlock and Jim, the truce between Sherlock and Mycroft after the Eurus incident, John and Sherlock acknowledging their relationship formally and Sebastian and Jim turning legit and getting married, things had improved dramatically between all parties involved. Mycroft and Greg Lestrade of Scotland Yard were now a couple, Sherlock and John were together and Jim and Sebastian were married. They co-existed peacefully in London nowadays, though Jim had houses in other parts of the world and he and Sebastian traveled frequently, and sometimes on special occasions they visited each other with gifts and good wishes.

But this was the first time they had decided to spend Christmas together, that too at Mycroft’s latest acquisition, a beautiful and isolated log cabin in the Welsh countryside. Three bedrooms, three baths, living room, large country style kitchen with separate breakfast counter and dining area, a games room featuring a table tennis board, dartboard and a pool table, it was located conveniently within five hundred meters of the highway and yet set amidst woodlands and a bubbling stream. Fenced in from all sides, it had a huge outdoor hot tub, a fishing pond and a barbeque area as well. Mycroft being Mycroft, he had furnished the house with all latest techno-gadgets, installed central heating and also ensured high speed internet availability round the clock.

Jim was putting the star above the six-foot Christmas tree, held up in his arms by Sherlock who looked bored to death. Both turned to look at John who had just made the statement.

“What?”

“Eh?”

John looked at them through the open doorway. He and Sebastian were decorating the porch. Pretty hangings, a bunch of logs tied with a string-rope, a couple of patio chairs with Santa hats wrapped on their back, they had made it look very pretty indeed. “You heard what he said,” Sebastian’s voice came from the other end of the porch, “There really is a Santa Claus. It’s no mythical fat guy in a suit.”

Mycroft padded in from the kitchen, “Is it time already for fairy tales?”

Greg Lestrade came down the staircase leading to the bedrooms upstairs, “Says the man who still believes in monarchy in this modern world and era of democracy.”

“Wow, it’s a standoff Sherly,” Jim giggled as Sherlock put him down on his feet, “Three versus three! It seems three of us think it’s a vapid, vacuous idea to believe in THE Santa Claus and three of them feel we are just being ourselves, plain crazy skeptical cynics.” 

“You guys are skeptical cynics, sometimes crazy too,” John objected, then frowned at his mate, “There is a step-ladder next to you. Why did you pick him up to help him put the star?”

“Hehe, look who’s the cynic now, even after five years together,” Jim laughed merrily and kept decorating the tree with candy canes, balls, bells, snowflakes and tiny socks with gifts bulging out of them, “Relax Johnny boy and be more like my Tiger, secure and confident. Your Sherlock is not going anywhere. So, about Santa Claus, the last time I saw him I broke his arm with a clever jujitsu tackle. He ran of cursing me and howling but I didn’t have time to pull off his disguise. Next day I saw one neighbor with his arm in a cast, he sort of ran away from me for the rest of the season…..there, you have it, Santa Claus is a fat guy in a suit or a regular guy in a fat suit. That’s it.”

“That was a clever move James,” Mycroft called out from the kitchen, “Broken arm is a good identifier.”

“You broke a poor man’s arm just to identify him later?” Lestrade was shocked, “He was just trying to make the kids in the neighborhood happy…..”

  
“So he made him happy,” Sherlock said, clearly supporting Jim, “Jim busted the myth that there’s really a Santa Claus who visits us on Christmas Eve. It’s just a relative or a trickster or a neighborhood guy.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, “Leave it Greg. No need to argue with them. I doubt they’ll understand it.”

***

The next time the topic came up was that evening. It was cold outside and it had started to snow. The six men were confined to the indoors and hence the games room was utilized to the hilt by Sebastian and Lestrade, both of whom were very good pool players. John and Mycroft were good at table tennis while Sherlock and Jim, upset that they were not decently good at either of those, concentrated on the dartboard.

“Guess why we feel there is a Santa Claus,” Lestrade said as he bent over the table for his turn at the strike, “John has an interesting story to share.”

Everyone turned to John who caught the ping pong ball instead of hitting it. “Well, um, it was those days when I was about nine and my sister Harriet was ten. Mum and dad had fallen on hard times due to job losses and repairs needed to the house, plus expenses we had to bear due to my grandmother’s illness. She passed away despite mum draining all her resources to save her. Anyways, cash was really low so it was supposed to be a low-key Christmas. Harry and I were very upset but kept quiet, putting on big fake smiles. Didn’t wanna hurt our parents.”

“Come to the Santa part please,” Sherlock drawled.

John ignored the jibe and went on with his story. “So we were supposed to buy gifts for each other within ten pounds,” he said with a wistful smile of remembrance from many years ago, “The Christmas tree was a modest two feet one, the feast was a meal of bangers and mash and so on. Harry and I watched and moped over the Christmas menu, gifts and decorations at our friends’ houses and the neighbors around us, wishing we had a Santa Claus for real. Someone who would make the Christmas a real happy one, with lots of gifts and a grand meal, a proper tree and maybe a visit from our favorite uncle John Harry Watson….who my sis and I were named after.”

Mycroft looked disinterested, “So did he show up? Mr. Claus, I mean!”

“He did indeed,” John sounded excited and his tone changed for the happier, “On Christmas morning when we woke up, the tree was a five-foot one, there was a huge stocking beside it that had the gifts Harry and I wanted, a beautiful dress and shoes for her, a bicycle for me….”

“How did they fit the bicycle in the stocking?” Jim asked, “That is a physical impossibility.”

John rolled his eyes, “Figure of speech man. The dress and shoes and candy were in the stocking and the bicycle was next to the tree. The house smelled of roasting goose and the fridge had a delicious sticky toffee pudding in it. But the best thing was uncle John was also there, with his new wife, paying us a visit. He stayed back for lunch and we had a blast, all of us. Suddenly Christmas was gorgeous again, all thanks to Santa.”

“Was he a wealthy man….this uncle?”

  
“Yes, you’re right Sherlock, he was!”

“Per my deductions, Uncle John was Santa,” Sherlock deadpanned.

The conversation came to a rapid halt at that point.

***

The six men were playing cards that night, after dinner, warmed brandy in their snifters by their elbows, when the second story came up. This time it was from Greg Lestrade. “Santa exists,” the DI said nonchalantly.

“Do tell,” Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow without looking up from his cards.

“It’s something that happened nearly sixteen years ago, it was one my earlier days in the Yard while I was still a trainee assigned to a sergeant,” Lestrade began, sipping his brandy. While John and Sebastian listened with rapt attention, Sherlock and Jim pretended to be absorbed with their cards but in reality their ears had pricked up as well. Mycroft kept looking at his partner discreetly, through the corner of his eyes.

Lestrade uncrossed his legs and leaned forward a bit, looking up from his cards.

“It was a drug bust gone bad and the sergeant had been shot, as had been the informer. I somehow managed to slink into the shadows of the old abandoned factory and hide behind an old rusted turbine. I was afraid to breathe, lest they heard me and gunned me down as well. I knew help was on the way but it didn’t seem to be arriving soon enough to save the day….or my life. What made things even more precarious was that I had a sample evidence in my possession, which could implicate the entire gang and prove as an irrefutable evidence in court. So I crouched there, hoping for a swift death and wondering during one of those weaker moments if….I should trade the evidence for my life.”

“They’d have still killed you,” Sherlock said with a shrug.

“True, so the thought came and went. As they approached the corner I was hiding in, I began to wonder if I would be alive to see Christmas….which was two days away. Suddenly Christmas and meeting family, having a drink with friends, opening presents, seemed like a distant and unrealistic dream. I even wondered if grown-ups could ask Santa for something….like their own lives. I remember praying ‘If only I could live to see Christmas with my family….’.”

“Then?” Jim asked, “Faster DI, a bit faster with the narrative please.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Lestrade cleared his throat, “I sent an SOS signal to one of the DIs I knew, his name is Brendon Grant. He’s assistant commissioner today. Then I realized he was off duty and at a Christmas charity event, visiting an orphanage to distribute gifts to kids. He wasn’t about to pop up anytime soon. I stayed there, waiting for death, and at one point managed to distract those men by triggering a mini blast, setting off a crude bomb I had picked up during the raid earlier.”

“Oho,” Sherlock rubbed his hands together, “Now comes the actual part.”

“Did you get shot after that?” Jim asked eagerly.

Lestrade made a face, “You ask as if it’s like getting a haircut. But yes, I did get shot. Bullet grazed past my shoulder and I fended off one of the goons before being overpowered by four more. As I lay there, bleeding and bruised, unable to focus on their threats since I was so lightheaded, I saw a flash of white and red in the distance…..and an entire backup force right behind him.”

Mycroft sat up straighter, looking very inquisitive now. “White and red and….was he fat as well? What was it? A ninja Santa?”

“I am sure I did see Santa. But I don’t know what happened after that. I had passed out. I woke up later that night in hospital. I was sore and bruised and my arm needed a few stitches but there was no real threat to my life. The gang was caught. I was discharged the next evening so I could go back home and celebrate Christmas with my family. I am sure it was Santa, my gift that year was the gift of….life.”

Jim made a whooshing sound with his throat and mouth and whistled, clearly not taken-in by the narrative. Sherlock simply snorted but said nothing, perhaps because Lestrade was his brother in law. John and Sebastian were positively impacted by the story and they talked to Lestrade with empathy and interest, asking him more details about the case and about the aftermath of that incident. The three men even talked about Christmas as a tradition and how, on all Christmas days, they felt a sense of divine providence around them. Mycroft was making some calculations in his head, his face twisting and turning in small angles and all directions, causing Jim to kick Sherlock on the shin and point at him. “Stop it Mike,” Sherlock chuckled wickedly, “You’ll scare off the kids.”

Mycroft ignored that comment completely and said, “There is an explanation behind what you just described my dear.”

“How so?”

“The DI….Grant, today’s assistant commissioner, I know he still does those charity events around Christmas. He dresses up as Santa and entertains the kids and all that! That year…. If he was at an event and got your message, he would have made an immediate rescue attempt instead of changing into his civvies. So, by all estimates, he was simply doing his job and doing it well, but in a Santa costume.”

Lestrade got up, “I think I’ll go to bed. Goodnight.”

***

Sebastian told his story the next day morning. It was Christmas Eve and the narrative came from the former sniper over a delicious breakfast he’d cooked for them.

Serving the five men with their Eggs Benedict with Hollandaise sauce, grilled asparagus, crispy bacon and fresh strawberries, he began his version of the real Santa Claus.

“So I was barely a teen then, around thirteen years old,” Sebastian kissed the top of Jim’s head and took his seat between Jim and Sherlock, “Dad had organized a huge birthday party for me. One of my dad’s cousins, much younger than him and someone I never liked, showed up. Dad was a wealthy man with a much younger wife, my step-mum, who also gave me enough grief for me to wish for her to disappear. As you all know, I am a Sagittarian and my birthday is on 18th of December, so Christmas was just a week away. I was hoping for a rather innovative gift from Santa. I said ‘I am too old to ask for toys and I don’t like books anymore, so give me something else, give me and my dad some peace, get those two bloodsucking leeches away from our lives forever.’ And well yeah, I got my wish.”

“Then…did you kill them?!” Lestrade sat up straighter, going taut. “No, unfortunately not,” Jim answered for Sebastian, then cupped his mouth and said, “Oops, sorry, continue Tiger!”

“Well, I wanted to kill them but at the same time I was afraid. Jim here would like to say I was a gutless wonder those days but to tell you the truth, I didn’t want my father to be shamed by my deeds. I didn’t want him to question me as to why I’d do something like….kill his wife and his brother, both of whom he loved and supported, a lot. I remember praying aloud as I sat under the Christmas tree, hoping for a small miracle from Santa. I remember saying “I shall never ask for anything on Christmas again.” A few minutes later my dad called me and said that after the party he had to be somewhere for work, and if I wanted something special for Christmas. I lied to him and said I want a horse. He agreed to that.”

“Once the party was over, those two, my uncle and my step-mum, went straight to the bedroom. That asshole and the bitch didn’t even care that though the guests had left, I was right there and so were the cook and the butler.”

“Oooh, groovy,” Jim said, “How come I never heard of this before?”

Sebastian merely offered him a placating smile and ignored the insensitive nature of the comment. “So I went to bed, upset on behalf of my dad and feeling betrayed by circumstances. Sometime that night I woke up and I was sure Santa was standing by my bed. He gave my arm a friendly squeeze and left the room and I fell back to sleep, thinking it was some dream induced by my constant prayers to him. The next morning I wake up to the butler hyperventilating that some thief had broken into the house, killed both step-mum and my uncle, and stolen about fifty thousand cash and some jewelry worth the same amount.”

Everyone gaped at Sebastian.

“What?” Sebastian said, “We were rich. A hundred grand would have been a very modest price to pay Santa for taking out those two ungrateful leeches.”

“Sebby baby,” Jim said with a guffaw, “It’s your dad who acted as contract killer and wish fulfiller that night, and he did that in style in a Santa suit and cap and maybe a fake beard. I bet your dad didn’t come back until noon and focused more on the robbery than the murders.”

Everyone, including Sherlock, gasped. Sebastian just gazed at Jim with a grimace and then asked, “Coffee or hot chocolate?”


	2. Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The festivities are rudely interrupted by a malevolent avenger

Christmas Day arrived.

The six men sat opening their gifts the next day morning. Overnight they had left milk and cookies for ‘Santa’ and the three geniuses, Mycroft, Sherlock and Jim were all evil grins and smug smiles since the milk and cookies were left untouched. Another reason why Santa didn’t exist or as Sherlock suggested, ‘Old man likes Bourbon, maybe we should have left him some.’

Per plan, each couple would give gifts as one unit. Accordingly every single man in the room would have two gifts. Mycroft and Greg Lestrade would give a gift each to Jim and Sebastian and also one each to Sherlock and John. Those two couples would in return, give them a gift each. Anything they had purchased for each other, like Sherlock’s gift to John or Jim’s gift to Sebastian or Mycroft’s gift to Lestrade, would be opened later in the day and in the privacy of their bedrooms. For a while only the sounds of scrunching paper and thumping of boxes could be heard as the six men opened their presents with as much restraint as possible. None of them wanted to appear like eager kids, even though there was a kid in each grown man there who desperately wanted to see what they’d got.

Sherlock had a top of the line microscope and a Tonerali Oblong Fiberglass violin case, special edition. John got an iPad and the latest iPhone since he’d cribbed enough about how Sherlock had destroyed his phone and hijacked his iPad. Jim got an Omega watch and a Tom Ford men’s toiletry hamper while Sebastian got a personalized cigar case made of silver with a similar personalized lighter and a ski suit and gear. Mycroft got a rare, aged and frightfully expensive collectors item of Bourbon and crystal glassware for his bar while Lestrade got a leather briefcase with gold clips and a pair of Armani sunglasses.

“Thanks, whoever my Santa is….” Jim said.

“Secret Santa,” Sherlock said, “Not so secret if you follow the breadcrumbs….”

“Sherl please,” John warned.

Sherlock shut up with some reluctance. Jim rolled his eyes but said nothing. Mycroft, not willing to add fuel to fire, simply got up and went to the television, turning it on for the early morning news. The first news that flashed made all the heads turn towards the screen.

Baron Maupertuis had escaped, swearing revenge on Sherlock and Mycroft and Jim. According to him, Mycroft had gotten him his lifetime sentence in prison, Sherlock had helped nab him and Jim had left him down by giving away his whereabouts. He blamed them equally.

“So the Serbian is going to come after us,” John asked, “How can you guys be so cool about it?”

“Make that ‘The Serbian wants to kill us’,” Jim said as if he was merely stating facts.

“We need to call for backup,” Greg said immediately.

“Calm down, he isn’t on his way here right now,” Sebastian said as he stretched his long legs.

“I believe we would have been in far more danger had we been in London and in those familiar places where he knows we live or visit,” Mycroft said as he turned the sound down and looked at the others, “As of now London is under high alert since the mayor wanted the festive season to be completely disruption-free. Cops all over, Mi5 keeping the city under strict surveillance and all that. He won’t manage to get out of the city for a few days so he will be hiding. We will be returning day after tomorrow and I’m sure we’ll manage to track him through out information network. This is supposed to be a holiday, let’s enjoy it. The hot tub outside needs some patronage, I think.”

“Hear hear,” said Jim.

“Alright,” John shrugged, “If you guys think it’s that safe.”

***

A pair of eyes watched through the binoculars as the six men lounged about in the outdoor hot tub, sipping whiskey and passing around some finger food.

It had snowed quite a bit the night before and the place looked like fairyland, with frozen ponds and snow covered trees and fences and ground. But to the man spying on the six men in the distance, the beauty of the place was totally lost in the anger and vengeance he felt.

The eyes narrowed and the man snarled with anger when he saw Jim Moriarty, now reformed and with a redeemed status, get out of the tub and wrap a dark blue fluffy robe around himself. Then he proudly marching to the house to fetch more whiskey. Next he looked at Sherlock who was getting a backrub from John Watson. Then his gaze moved to Mycroft who was smoking a pipe and chatting away with Sebastian and Greg Lestrade, at one point showing something on his phone. The two men watched and smiled broadly.

It looked like a happy and fun holiday with friends. They seemed so happy.

Happiness was really scarce for him since he had been exposed. He had no friends left. His family said declared they had nothing to do with him. His aides avoided him nowadays and didn’t even visit him in prison. He was on his own now, lonely, penniless and on the run.

But not for long. He would have his revenge and then he would kill himself. With no future to look forward to, living had become a burden. But if he had to die, he’d do it the same way he had lived most of his life – On a blaze of glory, big things, grandiose arrangements, spectacular.

Seeing those three men dead and their partners mourning their losses, changing the festive season and it’s cheer and celebrations into a big funeral arrangement, that was the grandiose sign-off he hoped for. And he was sure he could have it that very evening.

All he had to do was to set that log cabin on fire and make it look like an accident. He would burn along with it but not before he saw smiles wiped off those happy faces and heard them screaming away in pain and fear! Oh yes!

***

A nice Christmas lunch was prepared through the combined efforts of Sebastian, Mycroft and Jim. Those were the men truly interested in culinary pursuits and also skilled with the knife, wok and ladle. Sherlock was not much of a cook and he often ate whatever he was chopping, so he was kept out of the kitchen. To keep him out of the kitchen John had to stay out as well, just to ensure the detective didn’t saunter back in and stick his finger into some batter. Greg Lestrade helped with the table arrangement, cleaning and plating. Eventually the meal was ready and the three men were enormously proud at the fare they had come up with.

Roasted chicken with onion and apple glaze, grilled salmon fillets with herb butter, polenta and steamed vegetables with bacon drippings, fresh pineapple and cucumber salad and a homemade dressing, then a strawberry shortcake. It was perfect!

As they ate, the topic of Santa Claus came up once again. This time the three geniuses spoke of how it was good to keep the child alive inside but not to actually think like a child. “Adults behaving like kids are often called morons,” was Mycroft’s warning. “You can’t have kinky sex and believe in Santa at the same time,” was Jim’s jibe. Sherlock came up with a weird comparison between a child’s brain and an adult’s brain and how some adults remained kids by using less than 1% of their brain. Eventually Sebastian growled out a warning that any further sarcasm would mean sleeping in the doghouse, so the topic was shifted to something else.

For the first time none of the geniuses, nor their partners, sensed a presence around them and the house they had rented. None of them pre-empted any danger, perhaps because they were so happy and their Christmas weekend was going great despite those little niggling arguments about Santa being real or a myth. The idea of coming here as a group meant everyone had just the right amount of privacy and the right amount of company as needed.

A full belly and plenty of eggnog and mulled wine meant everyone was quite sleepy by the time lunch was over. They washed the plates and cleaned the table, stored away the leftovers and retired to their respective bedrooms for a little nap.

“Sex?” Jim asked innocently.

Sebastian shook his head and laughed, “You’re insatiable. You’re omni-sexual, always ready to have sex!”

After partially hearing that, Sherlock elbowed John. “I am confused now,” he said with his brows knotted and his mouth curled downwards, “I have heard of omnivores, like bears who eat meat and vegetables and fish, basically everything. What are omni-sexuals then? People who’d have sex with anybody? Like you can fuck a vegetarian and a non-vegetarian, oh yeah, a vegan too?”

“For someone so brilliant, how can you be so clueless about a small slang,” John tutted, “It is just a figure of speech, a special invention of the colonel. C’mon, let’s see how we can shut off that brain of yours for a little while. You want to be on your back or kneeling?”

Mycroft and Greg had already retired to their room and settled down side by side in their bed. “This holiday has been going really good so far,” Mycroft commented, taking off his glasses and sliding down the headboard to lie on his back. Greg rolled over to face him, “Honestly speaking, I have no idea why we hadn’t thought of a holiday like this before. I mean, all six of us together, a remote place, far away from the maddening crowds of London! This cottage was a great purchase I say. But we won’t need it all year so maybe we can rent it out during summer and fall, make some money out of it so we can maintain it without digging into our pockets.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about money,” Mycroft kissed his forehead, “Not after you and I got together. Your ex wife took you to the cleaners, so I understand the fears of being close to broke. But I am here now, you have no reason to worry over small spends.”

“Yeah but…..”  
  


“Shhh, relax now. Let’s take a nap, guess we both need it. We were woken up very early, thanks to Jim and Sebastian creating a huge racket in bed and Sherlock creating an equally big racket downstairs with his violin. I swear I swallowed my anger only because it’s Christmas.”

They slept heavily for two hours until Greg woke up with a jump, frowning and listening hard. Then he sniffed the air, shifting nervously in bed. Something was wrong, something was not right, something was fishy. He had no clue what it was but his gut instincts told him there was something they needed to immediately take care of. Otherwise it would flare up and cause some big catastrophe.

“Mike?”

“Hmmfff?”

“Mikey?”

“Yeah….yeah, awake now, what happened love?”

“Do you smell something?”

Mycroft was in a profession where they had to be sharp and ready for anything, anytime. So he had the self-practiced habit of going from groggy to total alertness in less than three seconds flat. He got out of bed quickly and put on his sweater and socks, sliding his feet into the comfy boots. “Yes Roy, I do smell something and I can hear something as well.”

Greg put on his jacket and whispered, “Someone is in the house and I don’t mean our brothers or our friends. It’s definitely an intruder. From the pattern of their pacing about and footsteps, I can clearly tell that.”

The two men crept out of their room and swiftly roused the others, letting them know of the situation that someone was downstairs and could be a dangerous, armed robber or psychopath. Thankfully the others were also used to such dangerous situations, situations full of uncertainty, and hence they took efforts to be absolutely quiet and calm, and not to start panicking like any normal person would. Armed with their guns (each man had one), they slowly came downstairs, prepared for any kind of face-off, be it man or animal or even a group of hoodlums. However, what they saw downstairs in the living room defied their imagination and previous thoughts completely.

“YOU???” Jim sneered.

“Me,” Maupertuis said with a huff, “Nice to see you again Spider. Or should I call you Richard Moran, isn’t that your new name.”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Nothing…..much. I just want some of you to die and the others to live with heartbreak. Small ask, don’t you think so?”

Sebastian pushed Jim behind and strode forward, face red with anger. “You talk to me Maupertuis. I always thought you were a bit slow and quite delusional but this takes the cake! What the fuck do you think we are? Little kindergartners, septuagenarian women or helpless and disabled war veterans? We will just roll over and die simply because your diseased mind wishes for it?”

“Nope,” Maupertuis seemed amused, he had a smile tugging at the corner of his lips but his eyes were totally cruel and shining with a mad glint, “I expect you all to burn and die.” At that Sebastian raised his gun and aimed it at the Serbian’s head but Maupertuis remained unfazed.

“Seb,” Sherlock warned, “He might have his wish. Don’t fire.”

“What?” John exclaimed, “He isn’t even armed.”

“Look,” Mycroft pointed, “He has filled the house with cooking gas, propane and butane.”

“Oh damn….so that’s the smell….” John looked around and gasped when his eyes fell on the cylinders lined up. There were three in the living room, two on the porch, three more in the kitchen as far as he could see and one under the stairwell, just next to his legs.

“Don’t shoot….don’t pull the trigger no matter what he says….” Mycroft warned and the guns automatically lowered.

Baron Maupertuis laughed and in that Jim recognized the same kind of madness that he had experienced before. Therapy and meds had helped him, as had the love and support of Sebastian and a total change of lifestyle and profession, but he remembered those days and how things used to be in his head. Noisy, confusion, puzzled bewilderment, irrational anger, a strong urge to destroy something, he shuddered as he remembered those days and how he’d sound when he spoke or laughed. If Maupertuis was anything even close to that they were all done for. This kind of madness was characterized by the least concern for one’s own wellbeing. The baron would gladly die if that was all it took to kill them all.

Suddenly he was afraid to die. Suddenly he felt like praying. Suddenly he wondered if Santa would really help.

Sherlock saw John stand protectively before him and suddenly he felt terrible for not being able to help. If this deranged man had his way John would die. He didn’t want to die or watch John die. A wild and unrealistic thought came to his mind and he wondered if asking Santa for the gift of life, like Lestrade had once done, was going to work. If only there was some way of getting out of this alive…..

Mycroft grabbed Lestrade’s arm, disappointed with himself for letting this get out of hand. His partner had mentioned they could be in danger and he had ignored it. He had been over-confident, he had been careless, he had put his brother, his partner, his friends in danger.

A certain kind of desperation worked up within him. This was Christmas day. This wasn’t supposed to happen to them on a day like this. Would Santa really help? Or should he pray to God? He had always been agnostic about such matters but right now, as his life flashed before his eyes, he found himself inclined to believe in God, in myths and miracles. Anything to get out of this.

“It’s not just the gas,” Maupertuis cackled with laughter, “I also happen to have this with me.” He lifted his sweater and showed a small grenade, “Remember this Mr. Moriarty?”

“Of course,” Jim barked, “You don’t have to do this Baron, there could be better ways to….”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to negotiate,” the Serbian narrowed his eyes and grinned evilly, “The Moriarty I remember would always say negotiating is for the weak and idiotic. It’s so ordinary. If you have to go down, go down in a blaze of glory. Just doing your bidding, sir!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not claim to be accurate with the canonical aspects of the Sherlock Holmes stories or the BBC's storyline. I have adapted some parts, made up my own bits. This Baron is mentioned in Conan Doyle's stories but this persona and actions are entirely fictitious and made up by me to suit the storyline.


	3. Someone on the roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A close shave and the men are saved....by someone on the roof!

“Why did you abandon us?”

Jim was sitting on the rug, like everyone else, while Maupertuis sat on the chair and watched them like a hawk. Not even a single movement was allowed. He was holding a lighter, ready to flick on the flame the moment someone disobeyed him or tried to get aggressive.

An hour into the imbroglio between the six men and their captor, the situation was in a status quo state. Maupertuis seemed to have no other agenda besides tormenting them and making them lose their nerves, something which was quite tough a job since the people involved were Mi6 heads, detectives, former criminals and surgeons. They were not going to wilt easily and Maupertuis didn’t seem to be mind the cat and mouse game. It looked likely to be an extremely long day. The question from Baron Maupertuis was the first proper question/statement from his side. Until then the questions had mostly originated from the six men who were held hostage in their own house.

Sebastian put a hand on Jim’s knee, pressing down gently to request him to stay calm. Sherlock did the same, only his gesture was a soft squeeze to Jim’s shoulder. Maupertuis noticed both gestures and said sarcastically, “One got you with his magic cock and the other got you with his Einstein brains didn’t they? What is the arrangement like right now…..open, threesome, foursome, quid pro quo, what is it?”

“You sonofabitch……”

“Jim-Jim no.”

“Boss, please!”

“James, don’t do this. Don’t let him win. This is precisely what he wants.”

The warnings and pleas from Sebastian, Sherlock and Mycroft made Jim restrain himself but he still shot out death glares at the Serbian Baron. “You feel like strangling me, no? by all means come over and do just that. I might accidentally trigger the bomb or an explosion, the lighter might just slip from my hands or a spark might go off, making this place go up in flames like a pile of dry grass!”

“FUCK YOU Maupertuis. This is my life and I choose what I wish to do with it. I am not answerable to you.”

“Without your protection we were exposed. That asshole torched through the web like we were indeed a pile of dry grass and you just let that happen. It wasn’t just your efforts that went into the creation of the web, a whole lot of us risked our necks and worked our asses off for that. When you decided to abandon it, why didn’t you give us a fucking warning? So many died, so many were arrested.”

“Those were things we were all prepared for, weren’t we? When you started in that line of work, you knew it and you accepted it. So where’s this sudden accusation coming from? I owed you all nothing. If you couldn’t defend your sorry arse without my help it’s your problem.”

Ignoring Jim completely now, Maupertuis shifted focus to Sherlock and Mycroft. “And you two privileged arses, you think you got the better of me?” He snarled, looking condescendingly at the siblings, “One got nicely hammered in the prison cell back in Serbia and the other one thought he’d conquered the world by getting baby brother out. While you were looking out only for your brother, I got one of your best operatives killed. Agent VxP, wasn’t that what you called him? But then that’s what you both are, one is a junkie who leans on his powerful brother like a vine and the powerful brother misuses his powers for nepotism and favoritism. No wonder even your own sister wanted you guys dead….where is she now? Silent as a stone, catatonic, in some asylum huh?”

“You leave our sister out of this,” Sherlock snapped.

“Don’t react,” Mycroft said through gritted teeth.

“Do you even know that before you had a fling with Jim, your brother had warmed his bed?”

“Okay Sherlock, let’s rough him up.”

“No, you were right Mycroft. We won’t react. He wants us to react and do something so we ll self-destruct.”

“Why don’t you kill us you coward,” John snarled, surprising everyone with his sudden reaction, “Is it because you’re too scared to die in the process? Or is it because you expect us give in to some weird and outlandish demands you have?”

“Yes, strip him and send him over,” Maupertuis pointed lasciviously at Jim. Sebastian cursed, Jim growled, Lestrade pulled them both back as they threateningly advanced upon the unhinged man sitting and grinning at them.

“Mike,” Sherlock whispered, “Remember the code?”

“Yes,” Mycroft whispered back, “That one.”

“Just shift your position and sit between me and Jim. He’s arguing and taunting them, he won’t notice. Do it quick. Do this so the three of us can speak. I think I know how we can trick him and save ourselves. Small chance but let’s grab it because that’s the only one we have.”

Mycroft did just that and, as if by telepathy, Jim noted the movement and sat back down. While Sebastian and John argued with Maupertuis, Jim responded to the plan by shifting closer to Mycroft so they could communicate vis a vis the code language. It was something Mycroft had invented and passed on to his brother, then Sherlock had practiced for a long time and Jim had perfected after learning it from both the Holmes brothers.

Time to put it to use.

***

“You need to let him go get some ice,” Mycroft said as he pointed at a very distressed looking Sherlock and Jim, “You got your wish, you made them fight and now both are dizzy. If they fall sick then there goes your plan of torturing us to death. An unconscious man has no clue what’s going on around them. Let them drink some water and use some ice on their heads. There’s ice in the refrigerator and it won’t take a minute.” Mycroft hoped Maupertuis’ distant vision problem would prevent him from noticing little details. “Wow, I can see it’s swelling up already,” he said as he pretended to examine his brother’s forehead.

“Fair enough,” Sebastian said when Maupertuis made no move to let Sherlock and Jim go to the kitchen, “If you don’t want them to move the let me go and get it.”

Maupertuis had enjoyed the fight that had broken out before him and lasted for a good minute. It was, of course, a fake fight but the Baron didn’t know that because Sherlock and Jim had made it look pretty real. He seemed smug in the knowledge that he had riled up the two geniuses and made them butt heads over some silly little topic. But the moment Sebastian made a mention of getting up, his good mood faded and he scowled. “No, not you, sit down colonel, I said SIT DOWN,” he said harshly as he waved a finger at Sebastian, “Why don’t we let the doctor go instead. He’s the doc, right, he would know what’s best for two knocked heads, right? You go, Doc Watson!”

John did as he was told, surprised that he had been chosen. He knew the plan of course; after the initial ‘coded communication’ between Mycroft, Jim and Sherlock, the geniuses had managed to use the Morse code methodology to convey the plan to both Sebastian and John.

Only Lestrade had no clue but he stayed quiet, kept his head down and stayed out of the way.

John walked to the kitchen, then used the remote kept in one of the drawers to partially open all the windows and the skylight above. Thanks to recent additions done by Mycroft, the house had remote controlled window panes and skylight panes and it had proved to be a boon today.

Then he opened the refrigerator and a smile came over his face. Good old Jim. He had, as part of a plan to have an innovative Christmas evening, brought five unique molds. One was a gun, the other a sword, the third a dagger, the fourth a knife and the fifth a small pistol.

He grabbed the knife and the dagger, which were small enough to be concealed under his jacket, then added some ice to a dish and brought it back to the living room.

***

They waited till the nauseating smell of gas had subsided and it was safe to at least open a door or move a furniture without causing a spark due to the tiniest of frictions. John hoped the weapons wouldn’t melt. He could feel he cold water seep in through this clothes.

At one point, as Maupertuis ranted about something random during his prison stay, Jim took the cue from Sherlock’s signals and got to his feet. Maupertuis seemed angry and had just raised his right arm to wave at him and ask him to sit back down when the criminal mastermind put on the best acting skills one could have seen outside a Hollywood potboiler. “You already know I only care about myself, right?" He scoffed, "Then how the hell does it matter to me what happens to the rest of them? I am walking out of here now, flick the lighter on if you must but I will definitely save my own arse and let those guys burn.”

Th deranged baron stood up and blocked the door, his face shining with an eerie glee of insanity. In a rather shrill voice he trilled, “Oh no James Isaac Moriarty, I am not letting YOU escape. You are the primary reason why I am in this situation. You had recruited me and trained me, you had shown me the way and then one fine day you always gave me away. If anyone here has betrayed me the most it’s you. Given a choice between them and you, I will let them get away but you won’t be leaving this gas chamber. I have made up my mind that the news of your death won’t be a fake one this time.”

“Have it your way,” Jim said, moving towards the window, “If you try to stop me physically then I shall win and I will be a free man. If you flick the lighter on then you perish as well.”

Maupertuis finally made the mistake they were all waiting for. He turned his back on the group for a moment.

In a flash Sebastian was on him and had pinned him against the wall. “That’s it,” the sniper said, “Now you have a ……. “

A sudden and bloodcurdling shriek was followed by the dull thud of a body landing on the floor. The evil baron had been stabbed in the neck and the back by none other than the Yard’s DI Gregory Lestrade and Captain John Watson.

“……….Lot to answer for,” Sebastian completed his earlier sentence in a daze, gaping wide eyed at Lestrade and John who were standing there with bloodied weapons of ‘ice’ and menacing expressions that didn’t go with their generally genial nature, “…..I mean, he had a lot to answer for but now, oh well, I suppose you guys did the right thing even if it wasn’t exactly what I had seen coming.”

“Let’s get all windows and doors open. Let’s get the cylinders out. Sherlock, go and switch off the mains right away.”

Mycroft’s instructions were followed to the T and soon the house was ventilated and past the danger levels where even a tiny spark could have torched it like a haystack. Mycroft himself called his team and informed his superiors, then helped Sebastian move the cylinders a safe distance away from the house.

However, it was almost an hour later that they realized danger had been lurking around them and they were still in peril. They had placed Maupertuis’ body in the store room and were busy airing the rooms and getting the house safe-zoned again. It hadn’t occurred to any of them that none of them had really checked if the man was truly dead or not. He had simply been assumed dead. In the darkness none of them saw a dark shadowy figure lurch out of the store room and approach them stealthily from behind. The mains had been turned off as a precaution and naturally the only source of light was from the moonbeams filtering in through the windows and open doors.

“SHERL,” John suddenly groaned, “Watch ouuuttt!!”

“Oh fuck, careful,” Sebastian gasped.

Jim came rushing down the stairs, “What happened, holy shitttt!”

Sherlock froze. He could feel the cold nozzle of a gun, definitely one of their guns, pressed against the back of his head. He could hear labored breathing. The Baron had survived inexplicably and was not going to die before he had at least some of his pound of flesh. Everyone else was right in front of them so there was hardly a chance for anybody to tackle the baron from behind or take him by surprise. He saw no way out of this.

“Say your prayers…..” Maupertuis coughed and Sherlock felt blood and spittle hit the back of his neck, “…….detective!”

He heard the roof creak….then he heard some tapping, then the sounds of something cracking under pressure. In the semi darkness, he saw Jim, Mycroft, John and the rest also look around. Clearly the noises were real, they weren’t the product of his fear-laden mind.

The next moment they heard the sounds of glass breaking and a shot was fired.

“Sherlock!”

“Lockie?”

“I’ll turn the mains back on. I think we won’t trigger a fire.”

“I-I am fine….are you all okay?”

“I think that bastard is finally dead.”

All of them had been speaking at once and amidst all the mayhem Sebastian tripped and fell, not making it to the door yet. Still, the mains were turned back on and the cottage was flooded with light. At the same time they heard sirens and voices and the sounds of engines revving and tyres spinning, Mycroft’s team and the local cops were here. Sherlock was a bit shaken but all right and uninjured. Sebastian had tripped on nothing else but Maupertuis’ legs as he tried to blindly grope his way towards the door. John, after initially checking on Sherlock, concentrated on examining the corpse of Baron Maupertuis. This time he was taking no chances and wanted to ensure their tribunals were over.

“He’s gone,” he said, sighing with relief.

“He died from his earlier injuries, did he?” Greg Lestrade asked.

“No….not really. See, he has been killed by this massive shard of glass…..” John looked up.

“How did the skylight crack?” Jim asked.

“Was someone on the roof?” Sherlock said, “I heard someone on the roof.”

“Whatever it is, they saved Sherlock’s life and perhaps ours as well,” Sebastian murmured, staring at the partially shattered skylight panes and the now lifeless body of the Serbian, “He wouldn’t have stopped after shooting Sherlock. I am sure he would have shot randomly in the dark and what were our chances of avoiding every shot in a small enclosed space?”

Just then, the local police chief and Anthea burst into the cottage, followed by the Mi5 and local police teams. They heard a helicopter’s rotator outside. Anthea had certainly ensured she had spared no expenses and left no turns to get to her boss as quickly as possible. “Chief are you all right?” She said, sweeping a quick glance around the room, “The medical unit is on the way, will be here in ten minutes tops.”

“He is the only one they need to look at,” Mycroft said, “That was quick turnaround Anthea. You saved our lives. He wasn’t really dead and…..” He paused when she seemed puzzled and said, “I….I am not sure I deserve that praise sir. I fail to see how I could have played a part in something that happened before I arrived.”

Mycroft frowned, “You mean, our guys were not on the roof?” She shook her head so he looked at the police chief. The man hesitantly answered that he and his men had just arrived and had no credit to claim here. “Then who was on the roof?” Lestrade murmured, looking upwards.

“How about Santa?” Sherlock mumbled and flopped down on the nearby couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I believe in Santa? Yes, I do. Just that....every year we have different Santas in our lives. This year it's my boss, who gave me a full week off, unlike all other ex-bosses. So he is Santa :)


	4. Loved up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange set of circumstances convince the doubters that there can indeed be a real Santa....or is it someone else?

John had never appreciated life and its smallest joys as he did that night. After hours of cleaning up, fixing the damages to the house and talking to the Mi5 and cops, the six men had finally got their privacy back around 10:30 in the night. After a quick-fix dinner that comprised mostly of the leftovers from their massive and scrumptious lunch, the six men had decided to retire for the night around 1:30 am.

When John entered their bedroom, Sherlock was already lying sprawled out on the bed and curled up on his side. He was covered till the chin and ears, with only his curly brown hairs sticking out over the blanket. John quickly used the toilet, got into his night-clothes and slid in beside the man he loved.

“Oh my God….” He felt a soft moan escape his lips when he tried to spoon his lover and felt a totally bare naked body against his own. Greed, passion and possessiveness coursed through him like a wild fire through a forest and he sucked a bruise then and there on the milky skin of Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective was quite awake and pushed back, thrusting his equally bare arse against the rapidly building erection of his lover. John groaned again, eager hands grabbing at Sherlock’s bare flanks, fingers sneaking to his nipples and tweaking them softly. Sherlock hissed as the twin nubs peaked immediately under the pads of John’s digits and he pushed back again towards John.

“Slide it in,” he was already breathless with desire, “I’m ready baby.”

“Oh….but….then…..”

  
“Just do it!”

John needed no second invitation and pushed inside, a loud grunt escaping him when he felt himself move smoothly into a warm and snug cavern whose walls closed tightly back around him. “Oh fuck you prepared yourself,” he hissed, holding Sherlock’s jutting hipbones and beginning to thrust in and out. Sherlock eagerly moved back and forth, enjoying the friction as he started to pleasure himself with his free hand (the other was grasped by John).

It was a great angle and almost every second thrust hit the younger man’s prostate. John’s reasonable girth made him feel full and Sherlock moaned with abundant desire, throwing his head back and exposing the long column of his neck. It was a direct invitation.

John sucked another bruise there and continued to move in and out till he felt a sudden onrush of warmth and blood southwards. He was so close and so abruptly there that he had no way of stopping it or warning Sherlock. So he did what never failed to make his lover cum.

He grabbed the detective’s well-hung balls and gave them a squeeze before pressing upon a sensitive spot on his perineum. At the same time he sped up, taking them both towards climax.

Seconds later Sherlock erupted with a string of wails and curses while John emptied himself with three loud grunts, one for each burst of semen from his cock. He kept thrusting through the orgasm that washed over them and continued the pace till the aftershocks had worn off. “You okay?” He asked his lover almost by habit as he gently pulled out of him. Though he knew Sherlock was a man and certainly not some fragile one, he never stopped worrying about his wellbeing.

Only a soft snore answered him and John chuckled, before reaching out for some tissues they kept handy for moments like this when Sherlock was passed out and John was too comfortable to make that trip to the bathroom.

***

Sebastian was absolutely sure he had died and gone to Heaven because there was no way on earth he could feel this much pleasure and such sharp sensations. His entire body was ready to explode from the way Jim moved on top of him, rolling his hips, rotating his arse, moving up and down lightly on his cock and then slamming himself down suddenly with force. All Sebastian could do was lie there and enjoy the way he was being pleasured, surrender totally to Jim the same way Jim mostly surrendered to him. It was a pleasant change and not one Jim allowed often, as he was just the opposite in bed as compared to what he was at work and life.

He dominated at work and in the general way they led their lives together, but in bed he was the quintessential needy and sexy little kitten, with feline like grace and tantrums and demands, sexy and very desirable. Today he had other things on his mind and dominated.

Jim had decided to be the bossy bottom not because he wanted to rule over Sebastian but because he wanted his Tiger to feel absolutely adored and pampered. So it had been a blowjob, run to the point where Sebastian was ready to explode, then this position with Jim on top and controlling the whole thing! The Irishman stared at his blond partner with such love and adoration that Sebastian’s breath hitched. He felt something melt in his heart and knew right at that moment that he couldn’t love Jim any more than how much he loved and treasured him right now.

“D-Don’t stop,” he rasped out as tingles of a climax started to build steadily in his body.

“Don’t dare to pull out,” Jim said as he rode him hard, “I want to feel you deposit it all in me.”

“But then….it will be sticky and messy!”

“Don’t care.”

“Fuck Jim, I’ll cum if you keep doing this…..”

Jim clenched his arse deliberately and Sebastian was done for. He came so hard he nearly threw Jim off of himself. To keep the smaller man there he grabbed him and pulled him down into a passionate clinch, biting hard on behind his ear to rein in the monstrous howl that threatened to escape him, and came like a geyser inside the tight arse he was buried in.

Jim didn’t try to rein in his sounds at all. He screamed and moaned and cursed aloud as he came, spilling between their bodies as Sebastian thrust and pulled in and out of him at a frenzied pace. The bed shook and creaked noisily and Jim almost slumped sideways. They rolled over and the Irishman gladly sank beneath the larger man as they finished like that, Sebastian on top of Jim’s spent body.

Once they were both spent and had nothing left to give, Sebastian gently pulled out of Jim and stared down at him in awe. _Did Jim really allow that?_ Jim didn’t like being filled unless they were due to take a shower because he didn’t prefer the sticky, dripping feeling, especially if they were already in bed and about to fall asleep right after. Jim would rather have Sebastian spill it on him or in his own hand or the sheets and clean up those places rather than spill it inside him. Kissing down the smaller man’s body, he gently parted the butt cheeks and salivated at the sight of the now gaping hole filled with the pearly cum. Possessive and fond thoughts occurred to him and he grinned. _I have filled him up, he is mine, he’s saturated with my seed, he is mine, he belongs to me_.

“You made me go caveman on you?” He whispered, kissing Jim’s bottom sweetly.

“Hmmmm,” the criminal was falling asleep.

“You sure you don’t want me to clean you up?”

  
“Of course I do…..”

“I’ll get a towel….”

“No idiot, with your tongue!”

Sebastian chuckled and dove down to do his lover’s bidding.

***

“Oh what a day,” Greg Lestrade panted as Mycroft gently eased out of him. He shuddered from remembered ecstasy.

“It was, wasn’t it?” The elder Holmes sibling let out a satisfied groan and tumbled down beside his partner.

Naked, sticky and spent, they lay side by side with matching smiles on their lips. Being the eldest of the three pairs and also the most calm and conventional ones, their lovemaking had not been frenzied or loud but it was by no means less passionate. Greg put his hand on Mycroft’s slightly less than taut stomach and Mycroft put his hand into Greg’s grasp, their fingers threading together. For a while all that could be heard were the sounds of their gentle breathing and soft sighs.

Finally Greg got up, as was his duty during late hours such as this, and went to the bathroom to bring a wet towel and a dry towel.

They needed to be scrupulously clean before they fell asleep. If there was one thing he was always very careful about, it was not to stoke Mycroft’s temper or his OCD towards cleanliness. The elder Holmes was not easily riled nor did he get loud and argumentative whenever that happened, but his reactions were severe in a different way. His anger was not explosive but cold, his reaction was not a fight but silence, his annoyance was not momentary but lingered for days. Mycroft was also very finicky about cleanliness and order and if that was missing even by an inch it would make him obsess over it and clean and tidy things with such a strange forcefulness that it was quite unnerving to watch it happen.

When Greg came back into the room, Mycroft was staring at him with an affection that he had seen in the man’s eyes very, very few times. He could literally count such instances at the tips of his fingers during their seven year relationship. Pleasantly surprised and also slightly curious, he asked honestly, “I thought you’d be dozing off by now. But you’re fully awake and you’re looking at me as if you’re seeing me for the first time.”

“I _am seeing you for the first time_.”

“Huh? How so?”

“I didn’t want to say it then, but I did think a few times that we might never…..see another Christmas again. I couldn’t see you, Sherlock or Jim dying under my nose. John and Sebastian too but the three of you….I felt useless Roy. I felt I was only an intelligence head by name. I should have anticipated this, I should have known better, my team should have picked up the clues and intercepted that baron before he made it to this place.”

“If we wish Mikey, we can blame ourselves for a thousand different things. But should we? After all, we are human beings and we do make mistakes. Unless you feel you have the power of God or something!”

“Nah,” Mycroft gave one of his rare smiles, “No way, not even close.”

“Let’s sleep then. I am quite fried.”

“Me too. C’mon, you’re too far away, come here!”

***

Jim woke up to find himself alone in bed. It was the day after Christmas but, unlike other years when he felt underwhelmed and slightly saddened after all the euphoria and celebrations of Christmas, he felt quite energized and happy. Surviving yesterday’s ordeal had recharged his batteries and given him a sense of fresh hope and gratitude. While used to life threatening situations as a criminal, he had grown accustomed to a softer, more secure life since leaving the murky world of crime.

“Sebby? Tiger?” He called out.

No one answered him. He sat up, the sheets slipping off his nude body, and looked around. Sebastian’s and his clothes from the evening before had been picked up, neatly folded and kept on a chair while a fresh set of his clothes and a jumper were kept at the foot of the bed. Okay, so Sebastian had done his bit before exiting the room. But why? It was only ten am. They could have stayed in bed a little longer. There was nowhere they had to be that day and as far as he could remember the responsibility of cooking breakfast that morning was that of Sherlock and Greg Lestrade. Did they bribe Seb into taking up the frying pan again? If that was the case Jim would teach them a lesson for making him wake up alone.

“James?” It was Mycroft’s voice.

“Come on in,” Jim said, getting out of bed.

Mycroft stepped in and shrieked, “Oh for God’s sake….”

“Oh,” Jim looked down, “I guess I will put on something.”

“I’ll look the other way….fuck, what’s wrong with both of you?”

Sherlock had just entered the room, sleepy and just as nude as Jim.

“Why is he being such a prude?” Jim asked Sherlock as he started to put on his clothes. “Dunno,” Sherlock reached for Sebastian’s robe and replied, yawning, “Guess he hasn’t seen Greg nude yet. What do you do in bed, play poker?” Jim giggled, “Poking, poker, poked!”

“Okay, enough laughter at my expense,” Mycroft said, “Our men have gone out, all three of them. Maybe we can act on that plan we came up with last night.” He paused for a moment, turned sharply towards Sherlock and said, “You just called him Greg?”

Sherlock looked sheepish, “Sorry. Wrong again. His name is Gus. I won’t forget.”

When Mycroft and Jim gasped he snorted and snickered, then said, “Just kidding.”

***

“It’s been ages since I had pizza for breakfast,”

“Seb, it’s more like brunch.”

“Yeah, by the time we reach the cabin it will be almost noon so brunch is more like it,” John said as he struggled with the truckload of food, dessert and cocktails they had purchased from a five-star resort about thirty miles from their cabin, “So then we have pizza, we have club sandwiches, we have hotdogs, we have hamburgers and we have chips, salad and pickle on the side. Plus we have apple pies and pineapple pastries and chocolate bulls eye. There are three types of cocktails and eggnog on the side…..I think we overdid it guys. Just listing out the food and drinks we have bought makes me feel twenty pounds heavier.”

“They are worth it,” Lestrade smiled.

“You bet they are,” Sebastian said, tugging at his collar.

“That bite mark on your collarbone is plain visible, no use trying to conceal it,” John laughed.

“So is the bruise on your neck,” Sebastian shot back and John blushed. Greg laughed.

Chatting happily and tasting small bits and portions of the food they had packed, trying not to let the cocktails and eggnog spill, they drove back for about an hour to reach the cabin where their men were waiting for them. But as they parked the car and stepped into the cabin, a huge surprise awaited them beside their three men.

All three geniuses were dressed like Santa Claus, though none were fat or has donned white bears. They were on their knees at the foyer, waiting for them, and had an open box each in their hands. In those boxes were beautiful gold claddagh rings. Sebastian, John and Greg almost dashed out of the door thinking they were in the wrong house when they realized it was really their men who were proposing to them, that too in Santa suits.

“Guys, what’s going on?” Sebastian was the first one to ask.

“Will you marry me Tiger?” Jim asked.

“Yes, I would, yes I will.”

“Jawn, marry me?” Sherlock asked, “Quick, my knee is hurting.”

“You rogue,” John promptly accepted the ring, then bent down to kiss his beloved, “But you are my rogue.”

“Roy,” Mycroft said with a wince and a shrug, “I am not good with words. Or with kneeling, you know that by now.”

“Ewwww, that is a sexual connotation,” Sherlock scoffed, “He is saying…..” Jim interrupted him and said, “No, don’t make it explicit now.”

Eventually Greg did wear Mycroft’s ring and all three geniuses got to their feet. Each couple celebrated in their usual style, Mycroft and Greg hugging and resting their foreheads together, John and Sherlock settling on a chair with Sherlock on John’s lap and Jim jumping up on Sebastian and clinging to him like a monkey with arms and legs as they kissed. For a while it was all good and shiny in there and the nightmarish ordeal of the evening before seemed miles, years away. Then someone’s stomach growled rather loudly and everyone broke out into laughter. The food was reheated, the table was laid out, the drinks were poured and the happy couples sat at the kitchen table, joyous and content.

“So what’s with the Santa costumes?” John asked.

“How did you get the rings?” Greg asked.

“I thought you didn’t believe in marriage, or Santa,” Sebastian added.

“Santa saved us last night,” Sherlock said, “In the absence of any other clues, deductions or proofs, this is all I can say.”

“Yes, he was on the roof,” Jim said, “No chimney so he smashed the skylight. The result, we were all saved and Maupertuis was impaled on a shard.”

“And we thought,” Mycroft said, “Why not honor Father Christmas by making this proposal very Christmassy!”

They sat down to eat and had a long and laugh packed brunch, enjoying the calories laden dishes and for once throwing caution to everything else but their taste buds. They were supposed to start for London the next morning but because they had lost a better part of Christmas day due to the lunatic, they agreed to extend the break for a day and leave the day after instead. As the meal finished, Jim and Sebastian found themselves on the porch, smoking.

“So you guys accepted Santa is real, huh?” Seb teased.

“Don’t push it,” Sherlock said, trying to look serious but failing. He craned his neck and looked at the snow covered bushes, “What’s that?”

“Oh the milk and cookies and chocolates that John and I left by habit……wait, why is it outside, on the edge of the porch?”   
  
“Sebby….they are empty. If it had been an animal there would be broken plates and crumbs….how would an animal even get inside and get the food out?”

The two men dropped their cigarettes and rushed inside to tell their men and friends about this interesting discovery.

In the distance a fat guy in a red suit watched them from behind a thick tree-truck, gave a belly laugh and walked away. The milk and cookies and Ferrero Rocher chocolates were really nice!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written just for fun and for the Christmas mood. Do I believe in Santa? 
> 
> Well, even Santa comes with a Claus(e) ;-D
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Happy Holidays to all!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Sequencing
> 
> Chapter 1 - Humor  
> Chapter 2 - Angst  
> Chapter 3 - Dark  
> Chapter 4 - Happy ending with smut and fluff


End file.
